The Way We Were
by xxsewnlipsxx
Summary: Hawke writes a few letters to Carver after he becomes a Templar. FemHawke/Anders
1. First Letter: Reflection

**Title: The Way We Were**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Hawke writes a few letters to Carver after he becomes a Templar. FemHawke/Anders**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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><p><span>First Letter: Reflection<span>

Brother, I'm not sure why I'm writing this. It seems like such a silly thing to waste my time doing. When did you ever listen to me? When did you ever care about what I had to say? But here it goes anyway. You've probably already set this down, but I find myself uncaring. For the first time, I'm speaking to you to comfort myself. I'm done being bigger sister always watching out for tiny, stumbling Carver. You're a man now, as you've so often told me, and you deserve to be treated like one. So, prepare to be burdened like one.

I hope you know that for days after you left us to 'make your own way' that Mother was crying in her room for days. Such awful, heartbroken sobbing. I had to crush my head with a pillow to stop the sound from getting to me. Ha, I thought that she was broken when Bethany died, but you proved that there was still plenty to destroy when you left. After three days, I finally coaxed her to comb her hair and take a bath. I felt like the mother leading the child, calming her, stroking her hair. What you did was awful, Carver. She lost another one of her babies. If I had known that you would hurt her so severely, I would have taken you into the blighted Deep Roads. We could have used your blade anyway.

I'm sure you've heard from her by now that we've purchased the Amell estate. With all the money the expedition brought in, we could probably have two or three mansions in Hightown. It's such a strange feeling, ducking my head and walking proper instead of stepping over drunks and getting jumped on my way home. The house is beautiful, but we haven't quite moved in yet. The slavers did more damage than we saw, Brother. I have a few cleaners in there today carting out tattered furniture. Mother is in a near catatonic state, but she assures me she's happy. She worries so for you.

I worry, as well. Ah, look at me. I started out so angry, but not even halfway through this piece of parchment, I'm turning into the concerned sister again. You make me so bitter, so annoyed sometimes. Yet I cannot help be concerned for your safety. I've fought a few Templars myself, Brother. You have, too. You've seen what I've done to them and the things they've done to me simply for being a mage. I hope that you will be a different breed, and that if you are, it will not burden you further. Despite how much it makes me angry that you've joined my enemy, I wish for your success.

You should see how green Gamlen is with envy. You can tell that he wants to move in with us, but Mother wouldn't allow it. I can't afford to feed him, as well, and he'd no doubt go around stealing from me at every turn. We've been buying so much furniture and carpets and silk dresses and bed covers that I'm dizzy looking at it all. To stop and think these things are mine is silly and foreign yet true.

I wonder if you remember that night before the Deep Roads like I do. Do you regret it? You were so frustrated, like you always are. Perhaps I was being stupid, trying to protect you. I shouldn't have barred you from going on the expedition. That wasn't my place. You're strong, if a little hot-headed. You proved that when you slammed me up against the bookcase, toppling all those volumes to the ratty floor of Gamlen's little shack. He lectured me after you stormed off. I didn't heal the bruises from your fingers, you know. They're gone now, but I kept them like a souvenir. I suppose I felt I had earned them.

With all this time to think about you, about our relationship, I think I've learned some things. You were right, actually. I do treat you like a child. I underestimate you constantly, and I wish that I hadn't. More than anything most nights, I wish you were here so I could argue with you. I never got to say goodbye to Bethany, and I don't want to lose you, Brother. I do love you, even if you don't care a fig for me. I love you, and I always will.

And now I'm positive you're rolling your eyes or even crumbling this paper up. I won't blame you. Mother's been visiting you constantly, and I wish I could go with her. That place—imagine—scares me, though. It looms ominously, with all those tranquil wandering about. They almost symbolize in my mind heads stuffed on pikes to warn mages away. No doubt my magic would make me a beacon. I'd be locked up in a second, so I stay at home. It's not like you want to see me anyway. It was just a thought.

Do you have enough power now, I wonder? Whether or not you realize it, you can ruin my life in an instant. Just one word from you could land me in the Gallows, locked away from the rest of the world. You said you wouldn't, but what's that worth if you're drunk one night or particularly angry with me? Of course, I'd never make it to the Gallows. You know me. I'd fight tooth and nail before they could lock me up. Death first, Brother. I'd rather be dead and free than alive and caged.

Maker, I'm starting to sound like Anders. You wouldn't believe the speech he gave me the other day. I must have said something flirtatious, and he went off on this huge rant about how my loving him would only end in disaster. I couldn't even remember what I said. I was so bored out of my bloody mind that I would have kissed an abomination to end it. Well, I suppose I could have just kissed Anders , and that would have ended it. Enjoy that image. Consider it punishment for slobbering all over Peaches in Lothering.

It must be this bottle of wine that's making me so sentimental. Fenris gave it to me for Mother, but it's halfway gone now. The candles are scarcely burning now, hot wax dripping all over the place. Everyone's asleep. Gamlen's snoring is rocking the house, and Spyder is snuffling on the floor. He misses you, too, you know.

Well, I'll stop prattling now because it's late. I've said too much already, Brother. Maker, it really must be the wine. I tell you. I suddenly remembered thunderstorms. Do you remember when you would crawl into bed with me because you were frightened of the thunder? Something that couldn't even hurt you! You were such a scrawny thing, always getting into trouble. I must have led you about by the hand until you were twelve. Then you didn't want to hold my hand anymore. You wouldn't sleep in my bed or share your breakfast with me. No, all I got were glares. Harsh words. Fights.

I've blackened your eyes too many times, Carver. This should, one day, end. Don't you think?

Somewhere deep inside you there must be some affection for me. Damn it, Carver! I've tried so bloody hard, don't you see that? Through all of the fights, all the times I've stood up for you, taken beatings in your name, hid you from aggressors, given you things that I had earned because you wanted them: shouldn't I get something in return? One kind word? Do you regret leaving me at all?

I don't think you understand. I'm _alone _now. I have to take care of Mother and Spyder and myself. Who's going to take care of me? Who's going to watch my back? Who can I trust, Brother? Anders? He's an abomination, a twisted creature of the Fade. Fenris? He despises mages. Isabela? A pirate thief. Aveline? Too busy. Varric? A silver-tongued liar. Merrill? A blood mage. You've left me here. You left me.

I'm so angry that you left. How am I supposed to make Mother happy? She always loved you two more. Not me. I'm the first born, not her baby. Now Bethany's gone. You're all she had left. Carver, she didn't even hug me goodbye when I went on the expedition even though my death was almost a guarantee. She let me go, but she clung to you like you were her child and I was just some rogue mage trying to lead you into temptation.

And that vulture, Meredith. She's already got wind of my magic, I'm sure. That woman can smell it a mile away. It won't be long before I have Templars pounding on my door. Do you think Mother can protect me? What can she do besides cry? I wonder if she would even bother to shed tears for me. Would she hug me goodbye then?

Isabela is suddenly tapping on my window. Forgive me, Brother. I went too far. If I had enough ink, I'd scribble out what I've written above. Then again, I'm not sure I'll even send this. You would be better off living in ignorance. It's lovely. Truly. Ha, there I am protecting you again. It's instinct by this point. I apologize.

Your bruised and not nearly drunk enough sister,

Marian Hawke

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><p><strong>I just did this to help with my writer's block for Paradise for Lesser Men. It will be over quickly. Thanks for reading. Review please.<strong>


	2. Second Letter: Loneliness

**Title: The Way We Were**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Hawke writes a few letters to Carver after he becomes a Templar. FemHawke/Anders**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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><p><span>Second Letter: Loneliness<span>

Brother, I'm sitting here writing this while my leg is in a cast. It hurts something awful, let me tell you. Rest assured that the bone isn't broken—at least, that's what Anders tells me. He might just be trying to make me feel better. I'm positive the Arishok's blade grazed the bone at least. Anyway, I just have a nineteen inch gash stretching from the back of my ankle all the way up to my thigh. Maker, does it hurt. It's constantly gushing blood and getting infected. Anders is up most nights insisting I get rest while changing the bandages. I don't think he realizes it would be easier for me to rest if he didn't wake me up to tell me.

All the nobles are under the impression that I fought him completely unscathed. I wish it were true. In fact, I've got more bruises than I've had before in my life. My back looks like I've poured purple paint all over it. Tiny scratches, the kind that itch and burn but don't really hurt, are littered about my arms and fingers as though I were thrown into a pile of razors. My hair is singed. It's really quite sad. The glorious Champion of Kirkwall can scarcely bathe herself without help.

Thankfully Anders has helped with that. And Orana. Oh, I haven't told you about her, have I? She's a slave I rescued from an enemy of Fenris's. Such a cute thing with the most lovely hair. Despite what she says, she's a wonderful cook and can play the lute beautifully. She's been serenading me after supper for the last few nights. Since I can't do much myself, I look forward to it. I just wish she wasn't so quiet. I love talking to her, but she scarcely says anything.

I miss you terribly sometimes. I miss our talks. Do you remember back in Lothering when we were fifteen and we stole some of Father's good whiskey from the cupboard? You spent all night trying to outdrink me and won, if I recall correctly. I passed out somewhere in the straw of the barn. Mother's face was priceless that morning when she found us.

You know by now that Mother's dead. Gamlen blames me, and so he should. All my life, praise has been heaped on me for my skills, my aptitude at magic, and my speed. I wasn't fast enough or smart enough. Quentin won, and his prize was Mother. I'm so glad you didn't have to see her like that. We had her cremated as is custom, and we scattered her ashes in the sea off the Wounded Coast. By we, I mean Anders, Aveline, and I. Isabela doesn't do emotional things, and Varric thought it would be too awkward to handle her ashes. Fenris and I don't get along at all, and Merrill is…well, a blood mage.

One would think with all these people around that I wouldn't get so lonely. It's different being in this big house, though. In Lothering, it was all five of us crammed into a tiny house. Even in Gamlen's house, we didn't have much room to move about. There was a closeness there, a feeling of family. Bodahn and Sandal aren't really great for conversation, and Orana's so skittish she thinks I'm going to beat her every time she drops a teacup. I keep telling her I have a hundred or so.

Anders has been…my rock, I guess you could say. We've gotten closer since you've been gone. I know what you're thinking. "Yuck, Sister. Why are you telling me this?" Well, because I don't have anyone else to talk to. I can't get drunk with Isabela like this, and the last time I spilled my guts to Varric, I woke up in his bed at the Hanged Man with a severe hangover and a lack of memory.

So he's an abomination, and so he told me he'd break my heart. So what if he's so focused on this damned Templar versus mage thing that he hardly ever talks about anything else? Who cares that he leaves his manifesto in every last corner of my house? Underneath it all, he's a sweet guy that I think is just afraid to fall in love. I'm no fool, though. He's dangerous. He has blackouts, and he has a demon inside of him. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'll be infected with Justice. We're both mages. What if it can pass from one to another? Not to mention that two apostates living under one roof (Yes, he moved in.) is twice the danger. Oh, Maker. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. My loneliness is driving me mad.

He's here now, you know. Sitting at the end of my desk and writing frantically. That's all he does, write, fight, and worry about me. Oh, how he worries! I get so sick of it sometimes. He's the one that's in danger. If Meredith tried to put the Champion away, Kirkwall would burn her alive. Our affair only protects him so much. What protection it does give him has made him cocky. He argues openly with her, no matter how much I try to shut his mouth. He reminds me a bit of you.

So how are things in the Gallows? Anders has described it to me. He makes it sound so frightening, Brother. I'm afraid for you. Tell me you still possess some compassion for the mages. Tell me you haven't forgotten your baby sister Bethany and how scared she was of Templars. Tell me you haven't forgotten me.

The Templars look at me with open distrust when I visit the Gallows. Cullen offered the other day to let me in to see you, but I declined. I didn't want to disturb you. I'm sure you're performing your Divine duties, and I'd hate to distract you from that. He's kind for a Templar, that Cullen. His eyes do linger, however, and it incenses Anders to no end. He must have a thing for mages.

Oh, what to tell you? Merrill is so angry with me. I know you liked her, but she's got this mirror that infected the Hero of Ferelden with the Blight or something. She wants to rebuild it! I haven't a clue why. It must be a Dalish thing. She says it has to do with her people's history, but their history is lost. Marethari has cast her from the clan. Some elf named Pol was so frightened of her that he ran into a huge monster to get away from her and died. We had to fight it to earn the right to use this elven artifact. It's sitting on my armoire. I'm going to return it to the clan soon. It's not mine. I have no right to keep it.

We finally found Bartrand, and he was absolutely mad, Brother. Anders cleared his head for a moment with magic, but it was so strange. He was insane, wanting only that lyrium artifact we found in the Deep Roads. He said it sang to him, but I couldn't hear a thing when we picked it up. Varric started acting strange, as well. He was arguing with me. Could it be the artifact only affects dwarves?

Anders has just asked me what I would like for lunch. I'm not hungry at all, to be honest. These sweet teas and remedies he insists on shoving down my throat have upset my stomach terribly. It's another one of his kind qualities. I do love him, Brother, despite how damned our relationship is. He's infuriating, but he means well. I just hope that whatever happens in the end isn't too dramatic. I don't think I could take another Arishok or invasion.

Here's my mabari, come to sit at my feet and unbalance the bed. I've told him time and time again to stay off it. Anders is a cat person. He's not really comfortable with all three of us sleeping together. Strange, isn't it? He's a Ferelden just like us, and I hate cats. I'm pretty sure most Fereldens do. Maybe it's a grey warden thing. Or maybe it's just Anders.

I wish Isabela would bring me some wine. If I'm going to be in pain, I should at least be drunk for it. My watchful nanny would never allow it, but who says he has to know?

Four days I've been in this bed, and I already miss going outside. Varric came yesterday and gave me a book. I've yet to pick it up. I haven't read anything for fun in so long. His brand of entertainment leaves a bit to be desired, anyway. It may just be another one of Isabela's friend-fictions. The last one I read made me blush clear down to my navel.

In case you're suddenly possessed to visit, though I highly doubt it, don't. I look so awful, as everyone has been kind enough to point out to me. Anders even draped a sheet over the mirror at my gasp of horror upon waking up. If we are to meet again in this lifetime, I want you to see me the way I always am. Not a vulnerable, wounded animal but a woman that has risen against the odds. I want you to see me as your big sister, the one you seem to have surpassed and forgotten.

You never replied to my last letter, so I assume it must be because you set it down after the first paragraph. Or perhaps you burned it. I thank you for that. I'm sure it was quite embarrassing, and you probably could have nailed it to the Chantry board for all to see. Maybe you did. I haven't been to the Chantry in quite some time.

We put roses in front of Mother's door, just so you know. I told her before the kidnapping that I would start going to the Chantry more for the services and less for paying jobs. I lied, apparently. The place smells of incense and flowers, and it reminds me too much of her. I haven't even been able to go into her room.

With Elthina and Meredith and Cullen checking in on me, one would think I really was about to be taken to the Gallows. I wonder often if they are just an intricate spy network. Cullen doesn't seem the type to want to oppress anyone, but I have given my trust to a Templar before and been betrayed. You remember that day, don't you? I still have the scars on my inner thigh. Anders nearly lost his head when I told him what they were from.

Maybe I'm more lovesick than I thought. Anders's name shows up in fine, black ink all over this page. Thankfully, he hasn't even glanced at it. I think I will wait until I am better to mail it. I don't want him reading what I've said. We're both acutely aware of how rocky this relationship is, but some things are better thought and not said.

I hear him on the stair with my food. For him, I will try to swallow what I can.

Yours always,

Marian


	3. Third Letter: Forgiveness

**Title: The Way We Were**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Hawke writes a few letters to Carver after he becomes a Templar. FemHawke/Anders**

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Review please.**

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><p><span>Letter Three: Forgiveness<span>

Dear Carver,

May I say you look so very cute sleeping in your Templar armor? Sitting on the ground with your chin resting on your chest? You remind me of the old days at Gamlen's house. We thought those were the hard times.

Look, I know I shouldn't be doing this. So you don't have to tell me that when we meet again, but I'm going to do it anyway. Varric will be here when you wake up to make sure that you read all of this. It's very important, what I have to tell you, so try not to lose your temper and ruin this sheet of paper. There are things even that wonderful little dwarf doesn't know. You can tell him I said that if you want.

We are getting ready to take ship. We're going home to Ferelden to petition the king for asylum and aid in this coming war. No, this isn't a plea for you to join my side. You wavered before, and I don't need that weakness on my side. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. Your conviction faltered. You were ready to slay your own sister for some self-righteous sending of a message from a madwoman. With the lines blurring, I can't ask you to join my cause. I won't even try.

Isabela's busy packing while I write this, and it's by dripping candlelight so ignore the splotches. Merrill, Aveline, Donnic, Fenris, and Sebastian are coming with me. Once we get the approval of King Alistair, we're heading to Starkhaven. I'm going to help Sebastian take back his throne and get his troops ready. It won't be long before all the Circles rebel, and the Templar yoke is thrown off for good. I've managed to convince Sebastian that slaughter is wrong, and he's going to let me turn Starkhaven into a mage safe-haven. Varric is going to stay here with you until I send word, then he'll join us.

It's not a very good plan nor a safe one, but it's the only one that I can manage to think of while I'm panicking and shaking so badly. I'm so sick of the taste and smell of blood, Carver, but I think it's only going to get worse in the coming years.

Damn Anders and his psychotic plan. Damn Elthina for not taking my warning. Damn Cullen for not apprehending him when I told him to. Damn my hands for killing him. Damn my heart for loving him.

Despite my fretting, everyone is prepared to back this plan up. Even Fenris is on my side, which I'm more grateful for than he can ever know. We have never exactly gotten along, but he's been there when it counted. Maker damn me, but I love him for it. I love them all for this. They've been the best of friends, the best of companions.

When I see them all like this, I want to protect them. Merrill is so frightened, shaking in the corner while Isabela packs. She's so small, frail limbs curled in on herself. Isabela hasn't stopped moving since I announced the plan. I think for the first time in her life, she's scared. With good reason. She's covered in blood but somehow still manages to be breathtaking. Aveline's silent in the corner, a scowl on her face while Donnic talks to her. Fenris is near me, arms crossed while he leans on the wall. Sebastian isn't doing much other than pacing. Varric's talking in a slow, steady stream. He might be telling a story. I can't hear him, even in this tiny shack. I'm surprised you're still asleep.

There's so much to do, I think I need to make a list. Sebastian is whispering in my ear to hurry. We have precious few minutes. He has made promises in the past to make me his queen, but I'm not sure I can do that just yet. To have his pretty jewelry glittering on my fingers? An apostate queen? Could you imagine?

I miss Anders, Carver. I can't hear his breathing or his footsteps, and my heart aches because of it. Did I do the right thing?

His life for mine, my freedom. I am free now, aren't I? We all are. The Templars cannot hold us back any longer. There won't be rape or imprisonment anymore. Young mages will know what it means to feel the rain and the sun on their faces. They can grow up and have children of their own. There will be no more worrying about Templars or estranged brothers who cannot excel because they must keep the family secret.

My children will be able to go to sleep at night and not worry about waking up in the Gallows.

No, I can't do this now. I can't let myself hope. It's too much to bear.

Once we establish ourselves in Starkhaven, we're going to contact the Divine and start peace talks. We want as little bloodshed as possible. I fear all Anders did was make the world hate mages even more. The only thing we may accomplish is keeping the mages in this rag-tag group safe from the hands of the Templars. We might not even make the ship. Maker keep us safe.

Listen to me now, and don't be stubborn about it. You protected me when it came down to the last of it, and I thank you for that. I'm not ungrateful for your help, but everyone caved when they saw what a crazy person Meredith had turned into. As long as your loyalties are with the Templars, you and I will be out of contact. I'm sorry for this. Mother would have scolded me to death for it, but it's the way it must be. I can't let my feelings for your interrupt in this mission. It's too important. It's not just about petty, sibling squabbles anymore. This is life and death.

I pray we do not meet again, at least not on opposite sides. If you wish to join our cause or seek asylum with us, you know where we will be. Just send word first. I'm not so sure that the Templars won't rebel themselves, and you might be left standing alone. There were enough of them on my side before. If they do, keep safe. Choose wisely. Use that brain in your head.

On another note, if we don't meet again, be happy. Find a nice girl and settle down if you can. Buy a house in Kirkwall or Ferelden. Move on. Don't let your big sister destroy your life with this. Maker, this was never supposed to happen. Try to have a life. Quit the Templars if you like. Just stay out of this war, Carver, if you can and if you're willing. Even if you hate me now, I can't bear to lose you. This is my fight, not yours. I won't drag you into it.

This is my last letter, and for good reason. We'll be disappearing, and I can't leave a paper trail. Have the kindness to burn this after you read it. And if your conviction has changed when you wake up, then you've chosen your side.

Be a man and fight for it then, even if it means hunting your own sister down.

Whatever your decision, know this: I love you. I have always loved you, Brother, ever since Mother placed you in my arms as a baby. I loved you as I blackened your eyes, kissed your cheeks, stole your food, pushed you down, and led you about. I loved you as we fought and argued. I love you now as we separate and go to fight for our destinies. I love you, and I never want you to forget that.

Know also that you have my forgiveness. Whatever you do in the future, know that the past is behind us. I forgive you for joining the enemy, for the bruises and the heartache you gave me. I forgive you for hurting Mother, and I forgive you for leaving me behind. I forgive you for being an ass all the time, and I forgive you for becoming a man. If we meet on different sides of the battlefield, Brother, know that I will forgive you for your choice.

It's almost light, and we need to be gone before you awake. Keep these words in your heart, Brother, when you falter again. I will always love you, and I will always forgive you. No matter what you do.

Wear our name proudly, Carver. Mother, Father, Bethany, and I gave nearly everything to give it the meaning it carries.

Goodbye, Carver Hawke.

Your sister,

Marian Hawke, free mage

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading. Review please.<strong>


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